“We’ve had a really nice day, and now I’ve ruined it by pushing for things you maybe don’t want. I’m aware that we barely know each other. I’m aware that only a fool believes in love at first sight.” He smiled slightly. “But I am a fool. Anyway, do you want me to leave now?”
“No. And you haven’t ruined anything.” Frank didn’t add his own views on love at first sight because he wasn’t sure what those views were. And anyway, from his perspective, it wasn’t really first sight. He’d been admiring Carver on the silver screen for years. It had simply turned out that the real man was far more enchanting than the celluloid one.
Carver gave a satisfied sigh and scooted down until he was fully reclined again—and pressed against Frank’s body. “Good. Then I propose a nap, followed by a romp here in bed, followed by dinner. Because two fellows can go out for a meal without causing a scandal, you know.”
“I accept your proposal.”
In practice, they ended up making some amendments. For one, they skipped the nap and went directly to the romp, which proved even more satisfying than the first one. And then, instead of bothering with a restaurant—or even bothering to put on clothing—they had a lovely, silly time in the kitchen together. The resulting meal, cobbled together out of bits and pieces, wouldn’t win any Michelin stars and would have appalled Frank’s grandmother, who’d insisted on proper nutrition even in the depths of the Depression when her finances were very tight. But it was the best dinner that Frank had ever eaten.
Afterward, Frank spent time drawing Carver again. Mostly in poses that would have gotten Frank kicked out of art school.
And then finally, Carver spent the night. The only time that Frank had ever slept with another man was when he was crammed together with other GIs during the war, and this was nothing like those experiences. Frank slept better than he had in years.
But when morning came, it brought cloudy skies and the requirement of facing reality. They had breakfast and coffee, and then Carver took his time showering and getting dressed in yesterday’s clothes. He seemed pensive, and they didn’t talk as much as they had the previous day. There was no discomfort between them, however.
“I have to go,” Carver said at last. “I have a meeting this afternoon. Who calls meetings during the week of Christmas?”
“I’m already late to work. I have a meeting too. Oh, don’t forget your orange juice pitcher.”
“Keep it. But could I have a couple of the drawings you made yesterday?”
Pleased, Frank nodded before rifling through the substantial stack and choosing a few favorites. “Here you go.”
Carver took them carefully, as if they were valuable. Then he paused near the door. “It’s Christmas on Thursday. I know you were invited to spend it with your friends in Palm Springs, and I’m supposed to attend Clouzot’s holiday party in Paris. But… we could spend the holiday together instead. We could fly out to Catalina, or head down to Acapulco or Puerto Vallarta.”
Frank wanted that so badly that it physically hurt. However, he shook his head. “Enjoy Paris,” he said gently. “I’m going to stay home.”
“Spend the holiday alone?” Carver’s gaze was searching.
“I’ve got Carver and Reed. We’ll have a grand old time.”
Although Carver looked unhappy, he bit his lip and didn’t argue. He reached up to run his thumb along Frank’s cheek. “Remember what I said about self-control? It’s admirable. But too much of it is dangerous. It…. Did you spend much time with Bouncing Betties during the war?”
Frank suppressed a shudder at the memory of the German S-mines, diabolical anti-personnel devices. “I disarmed more than I care to think about.”
“I don’t know that I’d have the nerve for that. Anyway, if you wrap yourself up too tightly and something comes along and gives just enough pressure in just the right place….”
“Boom,” Frank finished for him.
“Don’t be a Bouncing Betty, Frank.” Carver gave him one last kiss, tender and bittersweet, and then he was gone.
CHAPTER 6
“This is the morning you decide to be late?” Sylvia was rushing across the courtyard at top speed, either not noticing or not caring that Frank struggled to keep up.
“I’m not late,” he protested breathlessly. “I’m just not as early as usual.”
“Same thing.”
Building Three contained office spaces on the second floor and a workshop and conference rooms on the first. Sylvia led them straight to the largest conference room, where nearly every seat was filled by a business-suited man. Paul was there, pen in hand and notepad ready, and he gave a sneaky little thumbs-up as soon as he caught Frank’s eye.
His stomach in knots, Frank hovered near the door… and then recognized the man wearing a tie with the studio’s logo: Max Rask, the owner of Rask Studios. He had a pen too, but he was tapping it impatiently on the tabletop.
Although Frank had seen Mr. Rask at the studio a handful of times, he’d spoken to him only once, briefly. At the time, Frank was new to the job and working as an in-betweener, spending his days erasing stray marks from the animators’ work and drawing the animation cells that would be placed to smooth out the larger movements. Mr. Rask had glanced at Frank’s work, pronounced it “fine” and moved on. And now here he was, clearly annoyed at being kept waiting.
Sylvia gestured at one of the empty chairs. “Sit if you like, Frank.”
“Thank you, but I don’t mind standing.” That wasn’t absolutely true. But if he stood, he could position himself so that Paul was directly across from him, which would be reassuring.
